


Postcards From the Front

by Aliit_Netra



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27014068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliit_Netra/pseuds/Aliit_Netra
Summary: A collection of writing prompt responses and shorts set during The Clone Wars, cross-posted from Tumblr. Trigger warnings, if they apply, will be posted in the chapter notes.These are posted in no particular order, be that chronological in-universe, or in terms of them actually being written.
Kudos: 2





	1. When words fail

Sergeant Corey Black wasn’t a being who held the Jedi on any particular pedestal, as much as he respected their prowess in combat. They had been struggling to perform as Generals and officers in this war, which was to be expected. They weren’t fit for the role, and they should’ve left it to those who were. Black knew that the GAR was trained to respond to Jedi leadership - he had been one to teach them this - on Jango’s orders. Though he sensed there was far more to that than he knew, he still didn’t like it. There were Jedi who had a surprising knack for command, some who treated their cloned soldiers as people, and there were those who treated them as meat droids, bred to die. 

Of them all though, General Krell was the worst. When face to face with him, the Mandalorian wanted little more than to disembowel the Jedi, particularly after clones Corey had trained, considered friends, were killed needlessly by the General’s extreme tactics. His protests to the Jedi Council had been ignored, given the response that his objectives had been completed, despite the loss of life. The day that a Mandalorian had more respect for life than Jedi, cloned or otherwise, was the day that the Order as an organization needed to be burned down around their ears and started again.

While the General had been convalescing in the temple, following injuries that Black was genuinely sorry hadn’t killed him, the Mandalorian had obtained permission to enter the Jedi Temple and speak with him, under the guise of discussing strategy. This wasn’t entirely pretense, he hoped to find some shred of remorse for his actions and capitalize on it, make him see that clones were the people that he had seen throughout their growth. What he had found was a general who seemed to enjoy what he did, the methods he used, which made him not only a bad commander but a terrible Jedi as well. It made Black want to rip the tongue out of his wide, toothy smile. 

Perhaps though, if it was something that he couldn’t talk the Jedi out of, it was something he could beat out of him. Once Krell and recovered enough to be training in the Temple, the Mandalorian came to visit him again. He stood awhile, his presence in the Force reduced until it was barely there, and watched the General fight. It was impressive, and unnecessarily aggressive, as was mirrored in his strategy. Three times he had to show his credentials to passing Jedi, but they allowed him to remain. Facing General Krell in single combat would be a difficult task, possibly one that would kill him out in the field. Here in the Temple though, he didn’t expect the Jedi to use lethal force on him. 

Black had been trained in both sword and lightsaber by Mandalorians, training that had been passed down for more than three thousand years within his clan. They had knowledge of each of the seven forms, and Black had taken to training most consistently in the first two, but working for mastery of both aspects of Form V. Krell’s style was abnormal, and about as intimidating as could be found for a being who prided himself on being able to take anyone down. Two saberstaff used together. 

Swallowing hard, the Mandalorian tightened the knots that entangled his mental pathways, walling off his mind from outside probing and attacks. As he strode into the training hall, he allowed some of his presence in the Force to filter through, just enough to make the General turn to see what the disturbance was. 

“Mandalorian.” Krell ground out, stretching the word slightly. “Come to lecture me on the… humanity of our troops?” 

Black knew he was being baited, but the anger boiled within him anyway. Wordlessly, he placed the weapon on the ground between them and removed his helmet, placing it in what was the absolute center of the room, to the best of his knowledge. 

“Nothing so wordy today,  _ General.”  _ The sarcasm in his tone was obvious. “Though perhaps this will be equally eloquent in another way.” The only tell for Black’s emotional state was the fact that his accent was coming through somewhat thicker than it normally did. He was relaxed, far more so than one would expect given the situation he was in, but that was all down to the bountiful confidence he had in his capabilities. 

Besides, he knew he was capable of taking down Jedi, he’d already done so. 

His smile broadened as Krell chuckled, a low throaty sound that made Black all the more inclined to damage him permanently. 

“Among my people, it is traditional for the challenged to choose the weapons for the event. So I extend that courtesy to you.” 

Krell’s smile broadened further, and he simply gestured to the wall of the chamber, where numerous types of lightsaber were racked against the wall.

Pushing the desire crush him down, the Mandalorian moved to the wall and retrieved one of the weapons from the wall. A pike with some sort of lightsaber resistant shaft, by all appearances. Tossing the weapon from hand to hand to get a feel for the weight, the Mandalorian moved back towards the center of the room. Nodding once to the Jedi, Black signaled his readiness. 

Closing his eyes, the Mandalorian felt the Force with a strength that was a rarity for him. It flowed through him, like a river through a cave, filling him. He felt the General probe him, sensed his frustration rise, and Black felt movement accompanied by great danger. 

The snap-hiss of five lightsaber blades erupted simultaneously, and a blur of furiously colored motion began. Black was not used to being the smaller combatant, but he did not let the advantage go to waste. Blades clashed, and the Mandalorian was forced onto the defensive, though not a single strike penetrated his defense, clumsy though it appeared. Through the mass of deadly energy, the Mandalorian caught a glimpse of something he knew he would pay for dearly if he attempted. Twisting his defense into an attack was something that Form V taught him very early on, and it was an aspect of his training that he’d done his best to work into everything he did. Krell struck hard, two blades crashing against his short one. Rather than push back against it, the Mandalorian loosened his grip, allowing the energy from the Besalisk’s attack to increase the speed of the metallic end as it sped forward for a gap in his otherwise tight defenses. 

With a crunch, the lightsaber resistant shaft of Black’s weapon found itself striking squarely into Krell’s face. Twisting himself as the inevitable roaring reprisal came, another twin weapon strike walloped the Mandalorian across the backplate of the beskar armor he wore. Sprawling on the matted floor, Corey felt the burn from the weapon striking the metal on his back, grateful for the insulation as he rolled away from the next, flinging the pike away from him the Mandalorian rolled to his feet, adopting a crouch that would cause many beings to back away. General Krell was not among them. That was hardly unexpected, but perhaps a little hoped for. Krell lashed out with both blades, their pattern seemingly random, but Black was in neither place, and the burning plasma met nothing but empty air. Black didn’t attempt to strike, simply contenting himself with dodging and weaving through the blades, a feat that ought to have been impossible for someone of his bulk, but years of training with that quantity of muscle gave him the flexibility he needed. Krell’s attacks were getting increasingly more vicious with each miss, and with that came erratic behavior that even Black’s training could barely predict. 

Ignoring the Jedi spectators, the Mandalorian ducked inside the first strike, forced to utilize the Force to move quickly enough to avoid the second, the sole of his boot striking the inside of Krell’s upper right forearm as his hands pushed off of the upper left, contorting himself in midair to bring his legs around the Besalisk’s meaty throat. Gripping tightly, Black carried his momentum through, flipping the General from his feet and onto the floor. At this point in virtually any other fight, the Mandalorian would’ve either intended on choking the life out of his opponent or simply using his bulk to snap the combatant’s neck. Tempting as it was, he couldn’t just kill Krell in the Jedi Temple without consequences that would lead to bad things for those he was responsible for. Instead, he rolled over, lashing out with a series of rapidly precise punches that peppered the General’s face and chest, drawing blood from the corner of the Besalisk’s mouth. 

The inevitable retaliation came, and two strong hands and the Force lifted Black into the air, sending him sailing across the chamber. As he clattered to the floor, he felt the Force grip him once again, tossing him about like a heavily armored ragdoll. Protecting his head as he was slammed into the wall, Black hit the floor hard, immense pain flaring up within him. He hadn’t managed to cover his face fully before it hit the wall. The Mandalorian observed his pain, forced himself to watch it as though it was happening to another version of himself, and stiffly clambered to his feet. He knew he could utilize the pain to fuel his connection to the Force, but although he was aware of how to access his darker nature, he did not wish to, regardless of the fact that it was unwise to do so here. The possibility entered Black’s mind that Krell was pushing him towards that to have an excuse to put him down, and Corey wasn’t inclined to give his opponent the satisfaction. 

Studying the space around him, the Mandalorian’s face quirked up in an unlikely smile. Pain flared as he did so, but he paid it no real heed. He took one pace, then another towards General Krell before breaking into a charge. Krell swiped at him with a single blade which Black deflected with his gauntlet as he dove with the power of the strike, into a roll that led him to the ‘saber pike he’d discarded previously, gripping it as he rolled to his feet. 

Krell was on him before he could even activate the blade, and the Mandalorian could feel the shaft heating up in his gauntleted hand from the near-constant deflections. The Jedi struck at him, and Black took advantage of the extra armor he wore to take several deflections that would otherwise have lost him his arms. He knew, however, that he would not be able to hold up under this barrage indefinitely. Krell struck downwards with both blades, strikes that would’ve quartered him from shoulder to hip had they penetrated his defenses. Black took the brunt with his own physical strength, and Krell pushed his own against the Mandalorians, knowing that it wasn’t a contest Black could win. Twisting himself, Black released one hand, tipping the sabers towards his other and swiftly lashing out with a powerful kick to the Besalisk’s chest that staggered him back before the blades could hit the Mandalorian’s hand. Krell decided that he was going to put an end to the fight, there and then. Charging forward, he kicked out at Black, who was unable to keep his feet despite his skill. 

As Black clattered to the floor, Krell swept his blades in towards the Mandalorian’s exposed head. With defeat all but certain for the Mandalorian, he let loose the last trick he had, in a single weapon fight. “You are beaten, Mandalorian.” Krell snarled, triumph evident in his tone. Triumph that died as quickly as it came to life, as the snap-hiss of the lightsaber pike’s yellow blade erupting so close to his throat that he stopped short. 

Black grinned at the polite applause that came from the surrounding audience of Jedi and Clones, and the laughter that followed when he spoke as gently as though discussing the weather in an Alderaanian garden. “How about we call it a draw,  _ Jetii?”  _

Krell deactivated his weapons before Black would, and as Black climbed to his feet, he muttered: “Next time, I won’t go easy on you.” 

A benign smile crossed the Mandalorian’s bruised face, his voice barely above a whisper, his presence in the Force almost peaceful. “If we fight again, Krell, I’ll kill you. The Jedi Council might not be able to see the darkness that dwells more in you than most Jedi, or do anything about it, but I am not so blind. And accidents do have a tendency to happen to those who unnecessarily waste the lives of their men. And I’m very good at accidents, Jedi. Remember that.” 

Retrieving his helmet as he limped out of the training chamber, Black winked at a couple of grinning clones and those around them, before sealing himself back into his armor once more.


	2. [Part one of two] Planning The Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jedi Shadow, Geren Forseti and the Commandos of Drexl Squad have been called in to rescue the kidnapped Captain Pellaeon from the hands of the Separatists, before he can be transferred to a facility intended to interrogate him, leaving the Republic vulnerable in its fight in this theater. The Jedi has made contact with Jedi Generals Anakin Skywalker and Obi-wan Kenobi, who are in a pitched battle with droid forces in the vicinity...

"It can't be done," Obi-wan Kenobi didn't have a defeatist bone in his body, but the Jedi General could see no way to insert anyone, even a single operator, into such a small area. "I am well aware that some of your plans rival even Anakin's in terms of sanity, but this simply will not work." 

Whether he heard his name, or he always appeared when Obi-wan mentioned insanity, Anakin Skywalker strolled over to the group, along with his Padawan and Captain Rex, who nodded at Commander Cody as they approached. "What's going on?" He glanced at the Green Jedi, then at the commandos and Mandalorian seated behind him. "Master..."

"Forseti, General." Geren offered Skywalker a slight bow and grinned at the others. "A frontal assault would cost too many lives; it's unacceptable. These fine gentlemen can soften up the bulk of the droid army, while your troops stay back behind the shield and create a diversion." He gestured at the commandos. "They take out a couple of the lower wall tiers, you drop me here," he tapped the insertion point, "And I'll take out the guards and retrieve Captain Pellaeon."

Skywalker looked skeptical, but he nodded. "I like a challenge." 

Obi-wan shook his head. "Even if you - with your impressive piloting skills - can get General Forseti to where he needs to be, you won't be able to stay still long enough for him to debark. You'll be spotted, and blown out of the sky." 

Anakin was about to interject, when Geren held up his hand. "We won't be stopping. Whatever route you need along this insertion path," He outlined the area on the map. "Come in here, between the guns, run up the wall and spiral before you hit the top so that they can't lock. I'll drop out when you go vertical. They won't see me until it's too late."

"All due respect, General," Rex started, "But everything out there is sand-colored. You're gonna stick out in that gear." 

"Put your helmet on, please, Captain. I'd like to show you something." the Captain looked to Skywalker, who nodded, and Geren smiled at their bond. With the same smile on his face, he closed his eyes, focusing on the flow of the Force, wrapping it around him like a cloak. Everyone except Obi-wan jumped as he vanished from view, moving slowly until he was directly in front of Captain Rex. 

"All right, Forseti. You've made your point," Kenobi's smirk was evident in his tone. He broke his concentration and reappeared to his credit; Rex didn't flinch.

"I have a specialized skill set, which I prefer not to use publicly, unless strictly necessary. I'd say the Captain's retrieval counts." Geren shrugged slightly, his presence in the Force radiating confidence. "I'd prefer to have your support, gentlemen, but I'll pull it off without you if I have to."

"What, and let you have all the fun?" Obi-wan shook his head at Anakin's response, but Geren saw him meet Cody's eyes, and at that moment, he understood that while they stood together, there was no obstacle they could not overcome. 

"Your brilliant idea better not get us killed," Corey grinned at Jaro, as he took off his helmet. 

"When have they ever, Sarge?" The commando smirked as signaled the others from the command center.

Corey moved to the holotable, reaching out and clasping Rex by the wrist as he approached. "' _Cuy, Rex'ika_ ," he grinned. "It's been far too long." 

Geren kept one eye on the pair as he coordinated the plan for the final assault with the other Jedi, and couldn't help but smile at how animated they both appeared. He overheard the Mandalorian laugh at a quip aimed at his beard, pointing out that his armor was hardly regulation either, but it was comfortable. He knew that the Captain was asking questions about him; the way that he angled away, lowered his voice to barely more than a whisper. But, from his body language, when the pair broke apart, Rex seemed confident that Geren wasn't about to send  _ his  _ Jedi off into some crazy death trap.

No more than usual, anyway.


End file.
